New story, new excerpt

So I have an idea for a new story, based on Agatha Christie's "Ten Little Indians" (also known as "And Then There Were None"). The original book is kind of a locked-room mystery, but on steroids - the room is an entire island, and there are ten characters and ten deaths on it. My idea brings the setting down a little in scale - the island is a hospital ER - but hopefully keeps the spirit of the thing. I actually started it earlier this year while bored in class and then forgot about it, but I think it's a really fun idea, so I'm going to pursue it. So here's the beginning of it - nothing exciting happening yet, basically just scene-setting and character introductions.

Chapter: 1. New story, not related to previous excerpts
Word count: 379
Excerpt length: 379
Editing: A bit of spell-checking, but that's it

Doctor Sam Tyler set his dinner tray down on top of a table that sat at the edge of the hospital cafeteria. Sitting down in front of it, he regarded the meatloaf with mild disinterest for a moment and then switched his gaze to the snow that was falling outside the window. It had started as flurries half an hour ago, but it had quickly progressed into a heavy fall that bore all the hallmarks of an incipient blizzard.

Tyler, like most emergency workers, hated snow. He intended to savor his dinner - as much as cafeteria food could be savored - because he knew that this was going to be a long night in the ER. Spin-outs on the highway, old ladies who ventured out onto the slippery sidewalk and promptly broke a hip, and young men with god-complexes who thought they were immune to frostbite (no matter how long they played king-of-the-hill in the snow drifts) would appear at regular intervals all afternoon and into the evening.

He was suddenly glad he’d talked the nurses into brewing the coffee at their ER station double-strength tonight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Hey, have you seen the Dickhead Doctor?”

Jennifer Bergen looked up from the computer she’d been entering a patient’s information into and found Sophia Rodriguez, a fellow nurse, standing next to her chair. “What?” she asked her friend distractedly.

“Doctor Dickhead,” Rodriguez tried again. “Tyler,” she finally clarified when Bergen continued to look blank. “The grabby doctor? Geez, where have you been for the past six months?”

“Oh, right.” Jennifer shook her head as if to clear it. “I knew that. I’m just completely zoned out tonight with this snow.” She paused. “What did you ask me?”

“Tyler,” Sophia reminded her. “Where is he?”

She thought about it for a second. “No idea. I haven’t seen him since he re-set that dislocated shoulder an hour ago. Maybe he went to get something to eat?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “All I know is he better get his ass back here before all hell starts breaking loose.”

Both women looked up at the ER’s lone window, through which little was visible except the increasingly heavy snow. Jennifer sighed. “This is going to be a long night.”

Housecleaning

I deleted a couple of posts that didn't deal with my writing today. I've decided to keep this blog writing-only, and move my personal stuff to another, here. That's chaoticfluffy at wordpress, instead of chaoticfluffy at blogger, for the record. My future rants, weirdness, and incriminating high school photos can be found there, rather than here.

Can it be foreshadowing if it's this blatant?

Chapter: 1 (ok, so the last bit wasn't quite the end)
Word count: 1879
Excerpt length: 160
Editing: Hahahaha no

She eyed the gold detective’s shield staring back at her. “He’s a cop.” She looked back down at her patient, searching his face as though it could confirm the fact. “Yeah, that could have something to do with it.” She sighed. “I really don’t like this leg. The bumper of the car nailed him right there and it’s hanging on by a thread.”

“Does it still have circulation?”

“Practically nil. There’s no blood vessels still attached to do the circulating below his knee.” She paused. “At least I’ve got the bleeding mostly stopped.”

“Think he’s going to lose it?”

She smiled slightly. “The leg, or his cool?”

“Either.”

“Both. The leg doesn’t look good, and I can’t think of anyone who would be particularly pleased to find out wake up and find out they were an amputee - let alone a cop who relies on being totally mobile.”

Tris shook his head. “Yeah. He’s not going to be a happy camper.”

Name change and a few more paragraphs

Chapter: 1. The end of chapter 1, in fact.
Word count: 1758
Excerpt length: 249. What? Stop laughing at my uselessness! 249 is better than 248!

Katje Phillips watched her patient’s head loll back on the stretcher. Smiling slightly, she looked up at the paramedic she was sharing the box space with, a twenty-year veteran named Tris. “This has got to be one of the calmest accident victims I’ve come across in a long time.”

Tris rolled his eyes. “And the one with the worst jokes.”

“I’ll take the bad jokes to get the cool-headedness. It’s almost like he’s done this before and isn’t bothering to get worked up about it.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Did we get his last name?”

“No. Did we get his first, for that matter?”

“Yeah. His first name is ‘Tommy’. That’s all I got out of him before he passed out at the scene.” Keeping the pressure on his leg with one hand, Katje reached for his pocket with the other. “Wonder if he has a wallet...ah!”

“Got it?”

“Yeah.” She pulled out a basic leather wallet and handed it to Tris, who had two free hands to her one. “Open it up and take a look for me.”

He did as requested, then stared down at its contents for a moment. “Well, this might explain it.”

“What might explain what?”

“This. Might explain his demeanor.” He turned the interior of the wallet toward her.

She eyed the gold detective’s shield staring back at her. “He’s a cop.” She looked back down at her patient, searching his face as though it could confirm the fact. “Yeah, that could have something to do with it.”

Smart little beastie...

There is a cat repeatedly knocking on my sliding glass doors. Knocking, I swear. It sounds exactly like someone asking to be let in. The little guy/gal going to have sore paws after this night is over. And for the record, s/he is not mine. Cats make me stop breathing, hooray for allergies. So of course the storyteller in me is all "omg what if the cat is lost and then it comes back and I have to let it in and then it stays with me and omg what do you do for an improvised litterbox and I wonder how long I could have a cat in my apartment without contaminating my lungs or my belongings with dander and I guess I could call my sister and ask her if the cat comes back and I have to let it in, but I'd wake her up and she has to work tomorrow and maybe there is a 24 hour vet in town and I can call them but do vets handle queries about random stray animals of course they must because maybe the random stray belongs to one of their customers and after all they would want the best for any cat whether it's a stray or not and so maybe I can call them after all and they will tell me how to take care of the cat and then I will have a pet cat for a while and maybe I won't die."

And then I realize I've been spinning this story for half an hour in my mind and the cat hasn't knocked again. Guess that plot's not going to work.